Storybook Story
by WhiteFlowersOnOurBacks
Summary: Because their love is like a storybook story. Except in all the ways it isn't. But maybe Sebastian can change that. Prequel to World's Greatest Dad. Basically domestic fluff with a bit of a plot.


**A prequel of sorts to World's Greatest Dad. In that it's set in the same verse (in my head nicknamed gift!verse). Mostly I just needed some adorable established Seblaine to make up for the glaring lack currently happening in Sync Your Heart.**

**Rating for language.**

**Song is Willy DeVille's Storybook Love from The Princess Bride aka one of the best movies of all time. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own. **

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Waking up on a Saturday morning to a kitchen covered in pancake batter and love songs blasting obnoxiously from his speakers was becoming distressingly normal for Sebastian. On the one hand, pancakes, on the other, cleanup. Somehow he always got stuck with the cleanup. It was probably because Blaine's idea of cleaning was limited to running a paper towel over it or, if it was really bad, dousing it with soap and getting distracted halfway through scrubbing and leaving the counter a sudsy mess.

"Do you even remember what your apartment looks like?" Sebastian asked, padding out to the kitchen to survey the damage. Not as bad as last week, he sighed in relief; the trail of batter didn't quite reach the ceiling this time.

"Of course I do. I was there last week. It's a four bedroom, one-and-a-half bath," he recited. "The kitchen should probably be condemned and we have that horrible green floral couch that Rob got from his grandmother."

"They got rid of that couch before Christmas."

"Huh," Blaine said, sounding very unconcerned with this trivial detail. "Did we get a new one?"

"A futon. From Tanya's sister." He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the orange juice, giving it a half-hearted shake. "Add juice to the grocery list, will you?" He reached back in and pulled out a beer.

Looking up from where he was carefully adding an overly flourished O.J to the list, Blaine yelped, "What are you doing? It's 10 in the morning."

"Breakfast beer," Sebastian sighed, popping the top off. "They're all the rage in Europe. And if you're going to invade my home and drink all my juice you, mister, don't get a say in what I drink." He pointed the bottle accusingly.

Gesturing to the table with his spatula, Blaine mumbled, "Fine, fine. Come sit. And bring me one too." He flipped three pancakes on each plate and proceeded to drown his in maple syrup and powdered sugar.

"Remind me to never marry you. Your dental bills are going to be astronomical." He ignored the syrup entirely and used a far less liberal amount of powdered sugar on his stack.

Childishly, Blaine stuck his tongue out at Sebastian as he dug into the gooey, sugary mess on his plate. "Oh, I almost forgot," he said, shovelling a last bite into his mouth before going over to get a notepad and pen from the desk drawer.

Vaguely, Sebastian wondered when exactly this happened. When (and how) Blaine had so seamlessly fitted himself into Sebastian's life without him noticing, because if he had noticed he would have taken off running. The thought of domesticity terrified him, although he was apparently fine with the practice given the shared grocery list, the two toothbrushes but only one tube of toothpaste that resided in his bathroom, and the fact that when he came home on Tuesday to an empty apartment everything had felt… weird. He had known Blaine had a study group so it wasn't a big deal or anything; it was just different in all the wrong ways.

"So, we need at least three new songs," Blaine chattered away, oblivious to his mini-crisis. "The bride is looking for something a little different. Apparently all of her friends have been getting married too and she said if she hears You're Still the One, anything by Bryan Adams, or anything Dion she will leave."

In the middle of freshman year, Blaine and three of his friends had formed a cover band that had gained quite a name for themselves as a well-priced, professional sounding group that was particularly sought after for weddings and bat mitzvahs. They played gigs fairly frequently to help them 'pay the bills', which for the first two years mostly meant buying booze and purchasing concert tickets, but now that they had their own apartment, it actually meant paying bills.

"Sounds like a nice change." At some point in the last year Blaine had developed a near allergic reaction to Celine Dion, thanks to his job. Sebastian had maybe programmed it as his ringback tone and then purposefully not answered whenever he called. That had only lasted a week though, because as funny as it was it was detrimental to their sex life.

Comfortably, they settled into their Saturday morning routine. After they finished eating, Blaine curled up on the couch, still listening to his stupid love songs in search of something new to add to their set. Sebastian flitted back and forth between catching the highlights on ESPN and cleaning up the kitchen. He had just finished washing the dishes when Blaine came skidding into the room, singing at the top of his lungs, "My love is like a storybook story. But it's as real as the feelings I feel." He grabbed Sebastian and spun him around, forcing him into a dance as he continued singing.

"Would you let go of me, you cretin? I'm trying to clean up your mess here."

Ignoring his whining, Blaine beamed and declared, "This should be our song."

"We don't need a song."

"Yes we do. All couples have a song," he said decidedly, bending backwards into a dip and laughing as Sebastian scrambled to keep him from cracking his head on the floor.

"Are you high? Were you just pretending to shower, but actually smoking massive amounts of pot in my bathroom?" He really didn't know why he even tried to keep up anymore, it was an effort miles beyond futile. "We're both men," because somehow this seemed the most logical protest.

"That's okay. I'll be the woman. No one would be surprised." His smile was half charming and half filthy and for a second Sebastian completely lost the thread of his came back to him as Blaine started singing again.

"I don't know what stories you read as a child but our- this," Sebastian blatantly avoided the 'L' word, even if, at the end of the day, that's what 'this' really was, "is not like any story I ever read," he commented as Blaine spun himself out again.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess that's true." He had stopped mid-spin and looked so despondent about this fact that Sebastian actually felt a little bad about not just going along with it from the beginning. Tugging his hand from Sebastian's he walked to the front door, grabbing his jacket from the closet.

"B, wait," Sebastian followed him down the hall. "We-"

"I have to meet the guys. I'll be back before dinner?" Blaine was acting like nothing had happened, but he also wasn't smiling at the fact that the normally composed Sebastian Smythe was standing, barefoot, in a semi-public area, and wearing his pyjamas. As the elevator bell dinged, he pressed a kiss to the corner of Sebastian's mouth.

He felt like complete crap. Obviously, he was shit at being a boyfriend and Blaine knew that better than anyone and still they were together. But he would like it if, for once, he didn't completely fuck it up without even noticing.

It took about a day for the incident to fade into the background and they kept on with their lives, getting ready for finals and vaguely trying to figure out what they were going to be doing with the rest of their lives, because they only had one more year left in college but a year was kind of a long time.

Sebastian still felt like the world's shittiest boyfriend and he had maybe briefly entertained the idea of getting really drunk and finding some guy to blow him somewhere that Blaine would catch them, just so he'd have to break up with him and he could move on to someone better. But that would actually be the douchiest thing that he had ever done. Instead he asked Blaine to move in with him.

So that had happened. And as of 3pm that afternoon Blaine was actually living with him and the apartment was a mess of boxes as they tried to figure out which mugs they did and didn't need and where the fuck they would be putting Blaine's ridiculous bowtie collection. In the end they decided to sleep on it; a bit too literally, Sebastian found out as he pulled a red strip of fabric from underneath his pillow.

"This shouldn't be this awkward," Blaine finally commented. As usual, he was right. They were both lying on their backs with as much space between them as possible like Blaine hadn't slept here more often then not for the past 9 months. "Maybe if we just?" he maneuvered himself so he was half wrapped around his boyfriend. Sebastian had been unsurprised to find out that he was a cuddler. Blaine had been unsurprised to find that Sebastian was not. But, they had discovered, passive cuddling worked okay, so most nights they fell asleep like this.

"This is ridiculous," Sebastian said twenty minutes later when it hadn't yet stopped being awkward. Flipping on the light, he kicked off the covers and squirmed out from underneath his boyfriend, who pouted but was also kind of relieved. He knelt down next to the bed and spent forever rooting around for something before emerging with a meticulously wrapped package. "I was saving it for your birthday. But here." He shoved the gift into Blaine's chest and warily perched himself on the edge of the bed. "It's really dumb, and you probably don't even- mphff," his ramble was cut off by Blaine's lips on his.

"I'm sure it's great," he said earnestly, pulling back and beginning to remove the wrapping. Sebastian shifted uncomfortably, staring very pointedly at the ceiling because he really hated watching people open presents from him. The crinkling stopped. "It's a picture book?" Blaine asked in confusion.

"I told you it was dumb." Sebastian muttered quietly. Then, "Turn it over," because even without looking he knew that Blaine would have opened it upside down. He listened as the book was flipped over and he nearly had to physically restrain himself from bolting out of the room at Blaine's sharp intake of breath as he read the cover.

It was cartoonish and garish, depicting the sun setting over a castle and splashed across the top were the words 'Our Storybook Story' is some horrible and romantic cursive font. "Did you do all of this?" Blaine asked in wonder, flipping through the pages.

"No," Sebastian lied defiantly. He certainly hadn't spent the past month working on this instead of diligently studying for his exams. And if the book just happened to tell the story of their relationship, starting in a town called 'Dalton', and ending in a castle called 'Manhattan' that was pure coincidence. As was the fact that the characters looked suspiciously like them, except dressed as a medieval prince and princess. "I found it on Amazon."

"Uhhuh," Blaine agreed. He had paused at the page that depicted them climbing onto a dragon named 'Delta.' "Is this when they become friends again?"

"Maybe," Sebastian replied cagily, still refusing to look away from the ceiling. "I shouldn't have said…that." Long ago he found out that meaningful conversations were a lot easier when he didn't actually use words. Thus far it was working very well for him. "And I thought we… you deserved a storybook story too. Maybe." He felt the bed shift, heard the click of the light, and suddenly it was very dark and he was being tackled down onto the mattress.

"I love it. I love you," Blaine sighed, kissing down his throat. "So much, Seb."

_Sex_, he lazily thought to himself some two hours later. Obviously that was the way to make things less awkward. He tried to wish that they'd figured that out hours ago, because then he wouldn't have humiliated himself with his stupid gift, but it was really hard to do with the way Blaine was practically purring against his chest and fuck if that hadn't been some of the best sex they ever had.

He ducked his head so his lips were just barely brushing against curls and found himself whispering, "Welcome home."

"Does this mean we have a song now?" Blaine asked, eyes widened in a stupidly hopeful manner.

"No."

"Please? For Monday morning pancakes?" Sebastian's resigned sigh had nothing to do with the ridiculous and irresistible pout he just knew was being directed at him. Monday morning pancakes weren't something you could just say no to.

"Fine," he grunted. "But you're wearing the dress."


End file.
